


Tipsy

by gilliganssighland



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: M/M, kakavegeweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 18:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17565914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilliganssighland/pseuds/gilliganssighland
Summary: Bulma's hosting another Z Fighter gathering at Capsule Corp. Vegeta broods, as he is wont to do, and Goku's drinking makes him a bit eager.





	Tipsy

**Author's Note:**

> For day one of KakaVege week. Prompt: Drunken antics!  
> Thanks to everyone on Discord for being sweethearts :)

  The speakers were blaring a cheery pop song on the porch, the sound resonating through the Capsule Corp garden and surrounding the crowd gathered there. Night had long fallen on West City, and Vegeta was sure that they were approaching the early hours of the morning, but the gathering raged on, the usual Z Fighters having met — Vegeta knew what it was this time, but he usually didn’t care enough to ask when Bulma began organising them — for a celebration of something-or-other. He heard a shout from the yard and watched, with middling interest, as Krillin and Yamcha argued animatedly near the hedge, the three-eyed man carefully examining them from where he leaned against the tree. Seemingly egged on by the short pig who stood between them, the two men raised the bottles in their hands and clinked them together before beginning to down them, the pig enthusiastically cheering them on as the triclops sighed.

  Leaning against the wall, Vegeta snorted and held his drink to his lips and sipped, having made himself comfortable in his usual spot: the right side of the back porch, inches from the railing, and two steps from the ugly potted plant that Panchy insisted on keeping. He had a routine at these gatherings, when they came up, and they were frequent enough that he had nearly mastered his “art.” He would enter midway through the event with little fanfare, beyond the sudden quieting of the chatter around him; he would move to get a drink and ignore the lingering gazes from those around him; and once that was done, Vegeta would move to his spot, rest his drink on the windowsill of the window just in front of the kitchen’s sink, and observe. He stared into his plastic cup and moved the cup around to watch the liquid swirl, the lingering burn of alcohol settling into the back of his throat. It was rare that he would be disturbed there, mostly because the other fighters, understandably, distrusted him; he had accepted that as a constant in his life long ago and held no interest in participating in their usual fare to begin with. It was entertainment alone to watch them interact with each other, to him. Vegeta heard the door open next to him and glanced to see Bulma, her cheeks tinted red as she kicked the door closed behind her, a large, ceramic bowl full of liquid — alcohol, he guessed — held in her arms. Noticing him, she offered him a sweet smile and a quick wink before walking off to the yard.

  There was a shout from the yard, rowdy and boisterous, and Vegeta didn’t have to look to know that it was Kakarot. He looked up from his cup, still moving it gently in his hands, and glanced up to see where the voice was coming from. Behind the rows of bowls and bottles on one cloth-draped table sat Kakarot, laughing loudly and waving his arms as Yamcha pushed down on the man’s shoulders, seemingly forcing him to sit. Bulma stood opposite them on the other side of the table, the bowl finally rested in front of the Saiyan before her. She leaned down so that her elbows could rest on the tablecloth, a laugh erupting from her as Kakarot took hold of a large bowl. Yamcha patted the man on the back and, without hesitation, Kakarot tipped the bowl into his mouth, his short friend running to the table and cheering as the man drank sloppily from the bowl, liquid dripping onto his gi and presumably staining it. Vegeta tipped his drink back again, once again savouring the small burn of the alcohol on his tongue.

  “You alright there, sweetie?”

  The voice of the woman behind Vegeta didn’t surprise him. He was used to her disturbing him, really, though even describing what she did as “disturbing” felt inappropriate for a woman who had offered him nothing but kindness. “I’m fine,” he replied, knowing that he wouldn’t get away with his usual gestures or “hmm”s or grunts; Bulma was just as nosy as her mother, but Panchy was a hundred times as strategically — or genuinely — sweet, and that was Vegeta’s downfall.

  The woman laughed, high-pitched and cheery, as she turned on the tap in front of the windowsill, snapping bright-yellow gloves onto her hands as she gathered a stack of plates and moved them to one side of the double sink. “Oh, dear, you’re brooding again!” she said, matter-of-factly, and Vegeta cursed the fact that she spoke so sweetly and treated him with kindness in a way that eliminated any chance of him appearing annoyed. He grunted instead, looking back to the yard. He watched as Kakarot’s oldest bowed to the Namekian before turning and yelling his goodbyes to the rest of the fighters, and Vegeta found himself smirking as the yard erupted into a loud chorus of parting wishes, alcohol-flushed cheeks filling his view as numerous fighters stumbled about and waved at the teenager. Gohan ran around to hug his father, settling into an awkward laugh when his father stumbled slightly, before turning around to give one last salute. Gohan walked to the back porch, hands in his pockets, and gave Vegeta a small look as he reached to open the door.

  “Uh, g’bye, Vegeta,” the boy said, not waiting for the man to respond as he ran through the doorframe and closed the door behind him. “Goodbye, Mrs. Briefs!” he sounded, infinitely more confident and cheery as he spoke indoors, and the faded sound of footsteps told Vegeta that he was moving to leave.

  “Goodbye, Gohan!” Panchy replied, not looking up from where she was doing the dishes, rhythmically moving the sponge in large circles on the plate she was cleaning. “Such a sweet boy,” she said, to no-one in particular, and Vegeta sounded a quick “harumph” as he settled back, his left knee bent so that his foot could lie flat against the wall behind him. He listened to the occasionally clinking of the ceramic dishes against the cutlery as Panchy continued her work, and he rolled his shoulders before fully relaxing into his usual posture, ready to begin observing once more.

  He looked to the right side of the yard, at the buffet table, the old hermit puffing at his pipe as the blonde girl next to him — the personality-shifting one, Vegeta thought — loudly and angrily recounted a story, yelling and banging her fist against the table to emphasise her words. He wondered, briefly, how exactly Panchy managed to single-handedly cater the entire event with a few days’ notice, but he attributed that to the woman having some power beyond anything he could understand. The pig had shifted to downing entire platters of spring rolls down his gullet as a cat, the one that accompanied Yamcha, stared down at him disapprovingly from its place in the air. The yard erupted into shouts again, startling the pig and making him fall flat on his back, and Vegeta looked to the table to see a crowd of fighters hoisting Kakarot up, presumably celebrating his successful chug. Red-faced and tipsy, the man laughed as Yamcha lifted his hand up to the air in triumph, stumbling slightly when he tried to walk on his own as Bulma clapped happily. Tch.

  “Ah, sweetie, don’t you get lonely over here all on your own?” Panchy’s voice interrupted him from his definitely-not-brooding, and Vegeta felt his shoulders tense.

  “You ask that every time,” he replied, downing the rest of his drink and savouring the sweet taste of the sangria in his mouth. “The answer hasn’t changed.”

  “I ask if you’re bored every time, dear! Not lonely!” Vegeta didn’t have to look back to know that her sweet smile was on her face, and she likely wasn’t even looking at him, the clinking of the dishes in the sink still sounding as she chuckled. He wondered, briefly, if he had ever seen her with a different expression, but found himself scowling when he realised she had caught him out.

  “I’m fine here,” he said dismissively, tipping his cup back so that he could have the last few drops that settled at the bottom. He looked up at the gathering again, his eyes searching for his wife — she was stood next to Kakarot, leading him from the table, both arms wrapped around his bicep as she laughed at whatever the idiot was rambling about. Kakarot caught his gaze, then, briefly, and the man leaned in to whisper something to Bulma, a smile spreading on her face as she laughed hysterically. He felt the plastic of his cup warping under his fingers. The sight irritated him.

  “Surely you aren’t, dear. Everyone needs a bit of company,” Panchy said, the clinking of the dishes against each other replaced by the sound of the dishcloth rubbing against them. “And I don’t think being prodded by your mother-in-law usually counts!” Vegeta turned back to face her and found the woman smiling sweetly, blue eyes focused entirely on him — an impressive feat, really, with the number of dishes she was running through, methodically drying and setting them aside as though it was a trained skill. When he glanced back briefly to look at Bulma and Kakarot, Vegeta looked back to see her tilting her body to the side to peek through the window. Then she smiled even wider, which Vegeta previously doubted possible, and smacked her painted lips. “Oh, Vegeta,” she sighed, “Have you talked to him today?” Her tone was almost admonishing, yet still sickly sweet, and Vegeta hated how guilty it made him feel.

  “I hadn’t intended to,” he admitted, staring down into his empty cup. It was usually Kakarot who came to him, really, at the gatherings; it was something that Vegeta accepted as a constant. Midway through whatever it was, Kakarot would move to bait him into socialising with the others, and Vegeta would rebuff it; the other man would give up, and periodically sidle up to Vegeta to chat, but leave it at that. He felt the slightest hint of disappointment that the man had yet to bother him, but Vegeta wasn’t going to move to him.

  “Sweetie, it’s his _birthday_!” Panchy reprimanded him, and Vegeta cursed the woman for making him feel _guilty_ , as though it was his own mother scolding him as a child for whatever mess he had made or shameful thing he had done. He looked up to the gathering again, finding a circle had formed around Kakarot, the man’s wife hugging him as Bulma spoke to the circle. He remembered how Bulma had scolded him, weeks ago, for not talking to the man, even when he complained (or, as she referred to it, “whinged”) when Kakarot made no move to talk to him. She knew his reasons, of course, and mocked him for it on the daily, but it made it no easier to deal with.

Catching her husband’s gaze, Bulma smiled at him, then tilted her hand slightly and waved. “Oh, that’s my cue!” Vegeta looked back to Panchy, who had already placed the cloth on the counter and set aside her gloves as she moved about the kitchen. “Vegeta, be a doll and help me, won’t you?” she called, and Vegeta snorted at the concept that he even had the option of saying no as he swung the door open and made his way into the kitchen. Seconds later, and wondering with great concern about just exactly how the woman had managed to handle cakes _and_ food for the entire group of mostly gluttonous fighters, Vegeta balanced a tiered cake in each hand as he walked out onto the porch, ducking so that one didn’t catch on the top of the doorframe. He looked back, ensuring that Panchy was managing with the one she held, before walking out into the yard, feeling the eyes of all the fighters on him as they erupted into loud cheers.

  “Cake time, everyone!” Bulma yelled, shooing some of the fighters away to clear a path to the buffet table for Vegeta. She unceremoniously shoved platters to the side to clear space for the cakes, grinning when Vegeta set them down and reflexively crossed his arms. “Nice of you to leave your cave to join us, Vegeta,” she said, leaned forward to press a kiss against his cheek.

  “I’m only helping,” he explained, his eyes darting to Panchy as she set the cake down on the table. There were three in all, as Panchy had enthusiastically explained when he had moved to help — a six-tiered lemon cake, entirely for the fighters to gorge on; a two-tiered cheesecake, only for Kakarot, at the man’s request; and a smaller one for him to take home. Panchy was moving almost gracefully with a lighter in hand as she went around lighting each candle

  Bulma wagged her finger and tutted disapprovingly as chatter began around them, the entire crowd of Z Fighters gathered around the table. “Nuh-uh,” she said, grabbing hold of the man’s bicep with a devilish grin, “You’re out here with us, now. You’re _socialising_. And besides,” she paused, looking around her before her eyes settled on Kakarot’s form not far behind her, “You haven’t even talked to the birthday boy yet.”

  As though sensing that he was the subject of their conversation, Kakarot’s gaze shifted from the cakes to the pair in front of him, his expression shifting from one of awe and hunger to slight amusement as he made eye contact with Bulma. Shrugging out of his wife’s grip, Vegeta turned to face the other man, only to see Bulma wink at him. He raised an eyebrow, confused, a feeling that only intensified when Kakarot laughed and winked back. “What?”

  “Hm?” Bulma said, blinking at him as though nothing had happened.

  “What was that?” he asked, his gaze shifting rapidly between his wife and the other Saiyan. A smile spread on Bulma’s face, knowing and mischievous, but she only shrugged her shoulders.

  “No idea what you’re talking about,” she replied, sticking her tongue out when Vegeta furrowed his brows. “Alright, cake time! C’mon, Goku!”

  The crowd suddenly drew closer, gathering around the cake, and it was only when Vegeta felt Kakarot squeeze next to him that he realised he was trapped at the front, his thighs pressed against the sides of the table. “Aw, gee, this is real nice… Panchy, you didn’ have to do all that!” Kakarot said, the man’s mouth practically watering as he placed his palms on the table and leaned over the cake. His lean quickly turned into a near fall, and it took Vegeta grabbing the back of the man’s gi to prevent him slamming his face into the tallest cake. The man was clumsy, no doubt, but he was tipsy, too, and it made his clumsiness infinitely worse. “Sorry!”

  “Oh, dear, you know it’s nothing!” Palms flat against each other and hands pressed to her cheek, Panchy smiled from the other side of the table — “ _When the hell did she get there, she was just over here —”_ the thought ran through Vegeta’s head, but he left it unsaid — and waved off Kakarot’s concern. “Now come on, then! Get singing!”

  A cacophony of noise ensued, barely recognisable as singing, as the crowd began to sing their cheers in several conflicting keys. Vegeta wasn’t sure how exactly one could mangle a song as simple as “Happy Birthday”, but the Z Fighters somehow managed it, feeling the people crowded behind him swaying in some semblance of rhythm with the song. He kept his mouth shut, as he usually did; singing was for his wife and son when they bullied him into it, certainly not something he’d offer the buffoon next to him. He looked to his left, where Krillin had somehow clambered onto his wife’s back to sing at the top of his lungs, voice off-key and cracking. The Namekian stood next to them, his face tinged purple as he sang, Yamcha patting his back encouragingly as he belted out some horrible interpretation of the tune. Bulma pressed herself against her husband as sang sweetly, occasionally bursting into fits of laughter as she watched the bald man’s attempt at singing.

  Looking to his right, Vegeta expected more of the same, but found Kakarot staring down at him, his mouth hanging slightly open and his eyes nearly glazed over as he leaned down. Snapping his fingers in front of the man, Vegeta woke Kakarot from whatever haze he had entered, the man’s red-tinted cheeks flushing even deeper as he belted out a laugh. He stumbled back slightly, though Vegeta didn’t need to help him that time; Kakarot’s wife held the man steady, offering Vegeta a smile as she stood up to whisper something in the man’s ear. Kakarot laughed again, loud and powerful, as the singing finally came to an end.

  “ _Happy birthday to you!_ ”

  Erupting into cheers, the crowd devolved into laughter and celebration as Kakarot rubbed his palms together. “Alright, I gotta make a wish…” He looked to Vegeta, a smirk suddenly on his face, and turned to whisper something to his wife. Chi-Chi leaned forward past him, head tilted as she looked at Vegeta, and that same knowing smile that Bulma had given him earlier was plastered on her face as she waved to him before righting herself again. What?

  “Hurry up! We want food!” That was the pig’s voice in the crowd, loud and demanding; the Z Fighters laughed behind Vegeta, pressing in closer, and he could feel his neck starting to tighten with something akin to claustrophobia.

  “Get it over with, idiot,” he said, nudging his elbow into Kakarot’s side. The man’s gaze shifted to him, briefly surprised, before he smiled and closed his eyes. Kakarot inhaled deeply before blowing exaggeratedly at the cake, the fighters behind him cheering as he weaved his head back and forth to get all the candles on the tiered cake.

  Huffing, Kakarot raised his hands in triumph before he bellowed, “Let’s eat!”

  Satisfied that he had “socialised” — or, rather, stood in the company of those around him — for long enough, and reassured that Bulma wouldn’t see him as she was clambering over the fat, long-haired man for a slice of cake, Vegeta began to make his way through the crowd. He brushed past the three-eyed man and ignored Yamcha’s call to him — the man had to be drunk to do that — and reached the remaining bottles on the table, searching for the sangria he had had earlier. He bent down to scrutinise the labels, elbows propped up on the table, when he heard steps behind him, a familiar Ki  pulsating and fluctuating wildly. That was odd Ki behaviour, for him, but there was no word more fitting for Kakarot. The bright-red label of the bottle he sought finally came into view, and Vegeta grabbed the bottle before turning to face the man, whose head was tilted when Vegeta finally met his gaze. “Usually people greet others when they want to talk, Kakarot,” Vegeta said, leaning against the table as he reached across for a cup.

  “Well, I wanna talk,” Kakarot said, his cheeks flushed as he moved forward. “But — um —” he hesitated, briefly, and turned back to the crowd, as though searching for a face. Vegeta poured his drink and set the bottle aside before leaning to the side, looking for whatever or whoever Kakarot was looking at. He caught Bulma’s gaze, his wife leaning against the buffet table as she ate cake, before her eyes shifted to look at the younger Saiyan. Then she gave him a thumbs up, grinning widely, and Kakarot swallowed. “Can we — uh, somewhere else. Can I take you somewhere else? An’ talk? Please?”

  Vegeta stared at his wife who, consciously or unconsciously, didn’t meet his gaze again, and finally looked up to Kakarot. The man was fidgeting, one hand scratching at his neck and the other idly worrying at the fabric of his gi, and the alcohol left his face with a permanent red hue. “What do you have to say that can’t be said here?”

  Kakarot whined at that, a low sound from his throat, and he leaned his weight from foot to foot. “It’s important, ‘Geta, an’ I — please, just c’mon. Please? It’s kinda important.” He pouted, looking like a child, and Vegeta briefly considered if it was even worth continuing the façade of not wanting to go. He was curious, at very least, as to what he was acting so strange over, and supposed that curiosity was better than the irritation he felt that at that thought that Bulma supposedly knew something that he didn’t.

  “Sure, whatever,” he said, waving his free hand dismissively. The moment the words left his mouth, he felt Kakarot grab his free hand, and Vegeta found himself on top of Capsule Corp with the buffoon, nearly spilling his drink as he stumbled to find his footing on the dome-shaped roof. “What the fuck, Kakarot?”

  “I couldn’ think of anywhere else,” the man slurred, a grin on his face as he walked to the eastern side of the roof. “C’mere,” Kakarot said, beckoning Vegeta over with his hand as he sat against one of the tall towers of the building, hiding himself from the possible view of those in the yard.

  “No, Kakarot. What the hell are you doing?” Vegeta walked over regardless, holding his cup with a slightly stronger grip as he navigated the curved surface of the roof. “Is this necessary?”

  “Yeah,” the other man replied, smiling widely as he leaned against the glass of the tower’s window. All the lights were off, at least; they had some privacy. “You didn’ get me anything.”

  Vegeta raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  “For my birthday,” Kakarot clarified, his grin disappearing. “You didn’ get me anything.”

  “I’ve never gotten you anything in the past,” Vegeta said, hoping that he looked as confused as he was. “That was never a problem.” That drew a frustrated noise from the other man, and Kakarot flopped back so that his back rested against the curved roof, his eyes screwed shut.

  “Ugh,” Kakarot grunted, rubbing his palms at his eyes before he opened them. “Y’know, Bulma said being drunk’d make it a lot easier,” he said, tilting his head to look at Vegeta, “But I still feel just as stupid, now.” The younger man rolled onto his side and patted the spot next to him. “C’mon. Siddown.”

  Complying for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure of, Vegeta sat down next to Kakarot, crossing his legs and taking a sip of his drink. “What’s meant to be easier?” he asked, swirling the liquid in his cup once more. That drew a laugh from the younger man, who looked to him with a smile from where his head lay against the roof.

  “Bulma said you like me,” Kakarot said.

  Vegeta paused the motions of his hand, the sangria in his cup stilling. “What?”

  “She told me you like me.” The grin on Kakarot’s mouth spread, growing wider, his teeth showing. “I like you too, y’know. Even though you’re all prickly an’ angry at me all the time.”

  Vegeta blinked, staring at the other man briefly before shifting his gaze to the horizon. It was completely dark around Capsule Corp, few lights visible from the other buildings around; the stars were out in full force, bright and shining. “And she knows you’re doing this?”

  “Mhmm,” Kakarot hummed, rolling onto his back and resting his hands behind his head. “Chi-Chi, too. She didn’ tell me you felt, y’know, ‘till today. Said she was fed up, and you’re bein’, uh, slow. An’ hardheaded.” He moved one hand to scratch at his cheek. “She used more words than that, ‘course, but I don’t remember ‘em.”

  Vegeta took a deep breath and let himself sigh audibly before he moved to look at Kakarot again. The man’s face was perfectly neutral in a way that unsettled him; he was used to the stupidly jovial expression the younger Saiyan constantly held. “Fucking Bulma,” he sighed.

  “Yer doin’ that already, ain'tcha?” His grin was back, happy and mischievous. There was the Kakarot he knew.

  Vegeta stretched out a leg to kick the other man’s knee. “Ouch, ‘Geta,” Kakarot whined. “An’ it ain’t just her! Chi-Chi helped.” He sighed wistfully, waving one hand in the air. “She’s great, really. Bulma, too. Love ‘em.”

  Vegeta tilted his head back and drank from his cup again before he licked his lips and sighed again, rolling his shoulders. “What now, then?”

  Kakarot quirked an eyebrow and looked at him, biting at his lip. “Hm?”

  “Our feelings are different,” Vegeta elaborated, resting his free hand on his bent knee as he relaxed his grip on his cup. “Now what?”

  Kakarot blinked up at him, and then laughed, ever cheery. “I ain’ askin’ for anything much, y’know, ‘cause I don’t think I’m in the position too, really. I’m pretty hammered, ‘Geta,” he admitted, laughing, “So I don’ wanna, y’know, put you on the spot too much. We can… talk, an’ all that, later. I’d rather not do that at all, really, ‘cause it’s boring, but I guess we gotta.” He waved his hand and rolled onto his side again, his face inches from Vegeta’s thigh, and he looked up at the older man with a big smile. “But you owe me a present, right?”

  “Not really,” Vegeta replied.

  “Well, sucks to that, ‘cause you do,” Kakarot said, flashing a toothy grin Vegeta’s way. “If you do feel that way, an’ you ain’t really gotta do it if you don’ want to,” the younger Saiyan began, sitting up so that his palms were spread on the roof and his shoulder pressed against Vegeta’s, “Could I get a kiss? Just one.”

  Vegeta smirked at that, drinking the last of his sangria before licking his lips. He could smell the alcohol on the other man’s breath, and he found this new side to Kakarot entertaining. “You went through all this convoluted bullshit just because you wanted a kiss?” He rested the cup at his side, not minding when it began to roll down the curved surface of the roof.

  “Bulma said you’ve been talkin’ to her ‘bout likin’ me for a year, mister,” Kakarot retorted, poking Vegeta in the side, “So you can’t tell me nothin’. Least I did somethin’ about it.” Then he leaned so that his face was just below Vegeta’s, waggling his eyebrows in the poorest attempt at seduction Vegeta had ever seen. “So, am I gettin’ one? I ain’ gonna be this forward again, y’know. It’s already pretty embarrassin’, even now, an’ I’ve had a lot to drink.”

  Vegeta rolled his eyes. He had pictured this scenario far differently from what he was given, the few times he had let himself go so far as to fantasise; had mostly imagined their first kiss as a result of sparring, when pent-up tension finally boiled over and had to be relieved. “You’re allowed one,” he replied, “And only one.”

  Kakarot pouted at that, and Vegeta waved his hand. “You said you wanted one,” he stated, “And you’re intoxicated. Sober up tomorrow, and if I can tolerate your buffoonery for long enough, you may get more.” That seemed to appease him, a happy “hmm” sounding from his throat, and Kakarot moved his hand to tilt Vegeta’s head to his.

  “Hmm, sounds good,” Kakarot said, a smile on his face as the red on his cheeks deepened in colour. His eyes stared straight into Vegeta’s, unflinching and confident, his teeth shining. “Can I kiss ya, then?” he asked, licking his lips and looking eager.

  “You may,” Vegeta relented, and he closed his eyes as he felt soft lips against his own, already wanting to savour the taste of the alcohol on the other man’s tongue. He wanted more, then, there on the roof; he wanted a lot more than what Kakarot had asked for, but the man was intoxicated too heavily, and the atmosphere wasn’t right. A low sound rumbled in Kakarot’s throat and Vegeta gave a pleased sigh as he moved his thumb to the other man’s chin before they broke apart, Kakarot’s smile the widest he had seen it that night.

  “That was pretty good, ‘Geta,” Kakarot said, sounding satisfied as he licked his lips once more. “‘M glad I got drunk.” He laughed at his own words, mirthful and shameless as he stood up. There were still people down there, Kakarot’s friends, their partners, waiting on them — mostly just Kakarot, really — to return. “Thanks, Vegeta.”

  Vegeta stood without a word, simply nodding at the other man. He didn’t want to betray his own feelings so early, not when Kakarot may not even remember them the next day, but a wave of eagerness had hit him. Eagerness to explore, eagerness to know, a hunger that he hadn’t felt so strongly before that moment settling in his belly. He knew he’d get the chance to explore it in the future, if Kakarot really was telling the truth, and he would seize the opportunity once it presented itself, when Kakarot was of a clearer mind.

  Right after he gave Bulma an earful about selling him out, of course.


End file.
